


that's no stage fright

by chirospasms



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chirospasms/pseuds/chirospasms
Summary: Jack is well aware that Vil hates acting the part of a villain. That he'd rather be the hero.He makes a pretty good princess, too, though.
Relationships: Jack Howl/Vil Schoenheit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	that's no stage fright

**Author's Note:**

> When the summary makes it sound like a way different fic than it is lmao...
> 
> As will always be the case, this is totally unedited and mostly written at a stupid hour of the morning, so... It is what it is! I hope it's enjoyable anyway.

Jack almost doesn’t recognize Vil when he comes rounding the corner. 

It’s something that should be impossible, given that he’s found the other boy hard to forget ever since he’d seen him climbing out of the backseat of the sleek, black car that had pulled into a driveway that not too long prior had been full of the hustle of a moving company. Harder still to forget since the time they’d officially met and Vil had bounced right into a picture of poise and aplomb after being pushed around by other neighborhood children. Even _harder_ to forget after Jack had gone home that same night and made use of older sibling authority for once to wrest control of the remote from his younger brother and watch the TV drama that those kids had been bullying Vil over to begin with. 

He wouldn’t call himself a fan or anything as silly sounding as that, but they’re friends now, and that means he can confidently (but privately) think that Vil does have a memorable–and a whole lot of other adjectives that Jack is less confident in admitting, even privately–face.

And that face is the only thing Jack can identify as Vil steps closer, bundled up so tightly that it’s all that peeks out from between the fuzzy edge of a winter beanie resting just above his eyebrows and the muffler around his neck, wound up so thick that it nearly covers his mouth. 

“You…”

“Oh, don’t say anything. It’s cold and I’ve got rehearsals soon. I can’t get sick. Or let my hair get all dried out. Or-”

“I get it, I get it.” He does, and he doesn’t. While it’s true that the Land of Pyroxene does get pretty cold most times of the year, they’re not even that deep into winter. There’s no snow on the ground today. None yesterday, either, and as far as Jack is aware, there would not be any tomorrow. It’s only the tops of mountains in the faraway distance that give off the impression that Vil’s layers aren’t uncalled for, but those things are practically always sporting frosted peaks. 

Vil narrows his eyes at him. The current framing of his face by his cold weather accessories accentuates the scrunching of his features. His cheeks and the tip of his nose have gone red.

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to listen to the rest of the list. Of course _you’re_ not cold.”

With those words, Vil’s hands, covered up by cream-colored mittens, lift up to the top of his head in a pantomime of Jack’s ears. Jack quirks the smile that he’s been fighting ever since Vil came into view. 

“That’s true. For me, it’s not really cold at all.” Nobody had even told him to put a coat on before he’d left the house. Though, to be fair, his mother had had her hands too full of his baby sister to do much checking in on him when he’d called out that he was going to meet with Vil.

Vil drops his hands back to his sides with a soft huff, one that Jack hears with acute clarity as well as sees by the way his breath curls in the air. 

“We could go inside somewhere,” Jack offers, even though Vil has already started walking off in the direction of the local park. “I have a little bit of money. Allowance. If you want hot cocoa or something.”

“I’m not going to take your allowance money all because I’m a little chilly, Jack. I’ll admit it’s not even _that_ cold." Jack's not so sure he believes that, given the aforementioned red cheeks and nose. Vil's saving face, acting tough. He's got to hide another smile at the other boy's expense. "It’s not a bad thing to be cautious with my health and my looks, though.”

They haven’t known each other for all that long, but Jack has learned by now that Vil talks like he’s a lot older, that his priorities are skewed from what the norm is for kids around here. Jack is honestly a little surprised that Vil even makes the time to hang out with him, some random younger kid with the features of a wolf and the resting facial expression to match that simply doesn't go with how dainty Vil seems by comparison. Maybe it’s because other kids steer clear of him for the most part and Vil’s happy to go out and not be bothered. He’s not sure. He tries not to question it. Friendship is friendship.

“Right. Because of the rehearsal.”

“In general, too,” Vil says, and his head bobbles around in a way that Jack thinks must be from habit, like the other had been trying to flip hair away from the front of his face despite it being largely contained under a hat at the moment. 

“Uh-huh. You never told me you had a… New role?”

“Oh, I didn’t? Well, this one’s only a small part, so…” He trails off. Jack already knows by now that Vil doesn’t really consider _any_ part a _small_ part, at least not in how seriously he’ll take it, but that he does find time out of the spotlight to be disappointing. “The characters grow up in the story, so I’m only playing in the parts where they’re kids.”

“I see… Well, what’s your character like? Is he a good guy?”

Vil groans. Jack immediately regrets the question, especially when Vil’s arm comes out in front of him to stop him walking–but he’s only making them pause so they can look both ways before crossing the street. The blonde doesn’t speak again until they’re safely across and entering through the park’s open gate. 

The playground is empty. Maybe it really is colder than Vil says. Far out in the field where on a sunnier, warmer day there might be children and adults gathered, there are only a few older couples walking and paying no mind. Jack’s a little grateful for it; getting to spend time with just Vil without worrying about other kids is the best possible outcome. 

“No. He’s a horrid little brat, and he stays that way even when he’s older. He’s just another villain. Not the role I wanted.”

Jack nods his acknowledgement as they make their way to the swingset. He doesn’t think a villain would make sure he didn’t walk straight into traffic, or that anybody could look at Vil and think “villain” beyond perhaps the syllable of his name. Especially now, they couldn’t look at him as he sits himself in a swing and pouts from within his cocoon of layers and think that of him.

“What’s the one you wanted?”

“The kid who eventually becomes the hero, of course. Oh, and it’s so frustrating! The person who got that part is practically brand new to acting. Uhmm… Neige, I think. It feels so unfair. He’s… He’s really nice, though, so I guess it suits him, even if he’s not great at remembering his lines.”

“You’re nice.”

“Not nice enough to be the good guy, it seems.” 

Oh, he’s brooding. Jack clicks his tongue, the same noise his parents make at him and his brother when they’re upset at being told to settle down.

“What's all that about... I’m sure that’s not the reason. If Neige is new, and forgetful like that, then maybe it’s just what they needed.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… Maybe the hero is clumsy, or a little stupid, so it fits? Heroes can be that way sometimes... Aren’t you just too smart for a part like that?”

Vil considers that for quite some time. Jack’s already started swinging higher and higher while the other boy has only managed a slow sway, back and forth. 

“Maybe you’re right…”

“Y–”

Vil cuts him off before he can affirm anything.

“But it’s _acting_ ,” he stresses, finally kicking his legs to swing properly. His chatter is faster now, excited and proud like he’d never been pouting at all. “I can act stupid. I could do anything for the right role. I know all the lines! Even when they’re all grown up– well, not _all_ of those ones. But the _best_ parts, every word. I’d even be able to play the princess. My dad says I’ve got a real talent for memorizing this sort of thing. It's good for my studies, too.”

“But why would you memorize her lines? Sounds like a pain.”

“How could the hero know his cues if he doesn’t at least sort of know her lines?”

“I guess that makes sense. But you don’t even need to know all of that. You said it yourself, you’re only playing the parts where everyone is a kid.”

“Well, yeah… Everyone likes the happy ending, though, don’t they? I read ahead.”

“What happens?”

He can already imagine. He doesn’t watch much television and his siblings are too much of a handful for the family to sit down at the movie theater together, but he’s read and been read enough fairytales to assume. There’ll be a moment of daring or perhaps something sad and then the villain will be done away with and the princess will be safe and the hero will kiss her and they’ll get married and… It’s happily ever after from there, isn’t it? Jack likes those sorts of stories, even with their predictable endings. 

“Well…” Vil starts slowing down again, boots grazing the sand. Jack jumps from his own swing when he realizes that Vil seems to be ready to get up, and hears the other gasp even though he’d landed perfectly on both feet and there was nothing to worry about. He catches something else, too, muttered quietly and not meant to be heard, about how Vil is _not_ about to scrape his knees up doing something like that, and tries not to smile too knowingly as Vil gets up from the swing seat.

When his feet are firm on the ground, he turns on his heel away from Jack, motioning for him to follow. He does, ignoring the short-lived swishing of his tail.

“Thanks to the hero, the princess realizes that the man she was going to marry is _awful_ and is the reason that–well, I won’t spoil _all_ of the story. That man’s the character mine grows up to be, the villain, so you can imagine nothing good happens when he’s around…” His face pinches with annoyance and smooths over just as quickly. “The point is, he’s out of the picture now and they–the princess and the hero–are in this beautiful church where she was supposed to be married, and all the crowd is watching…”

Jack sees where this is going. Vil will say something about how they realize they’ve loved each other all along and that there’s no reason to wait when their chance to be together is right here, and they’ll kiss, and the crowd will cheer… He feels his tail wagging again.

He doesn’t say that, though. He clears his throat instead, pitches his voice a little differently. It doesn’t need to change much if a princess is what he’s going for. Vil may be older than him, but his voice is still high and sweet. 

“‘This whole time, I knew that something wasn’t right. With him, with all of this… But with you, _everything_ feels right again. I only wish I had noticed it sooner…’ Ah, and then...” Vil’s interrupting himself. He looks at Jack expectantly. He’s suddenly a whole lot closer, too, enough that Jack can feel the warmth of his breath–just when had they stopped walking, anyway? Weren’t they going to–well, he’s not even sure if they’d been heading to the monkey bars or the slides or what, but surely there were other things to do than this thing that’s making his heart beat in a way that makes him paranoid Vil’s human ears are going to pick up on it.

“And then…” Jack hesitates, though he’s sure he knows the answer. “They… Kiss?”

“Well,” Vil starts. It’s strangely difficult to read his expression even at this short distance. It’s like he’d lost himself that quickly in a role he didn’t even have and was remembering now that this wasn’t a set or a stage. It was just a cold, mostly empty park and his co-star was not a co-star at all. “The hero speaks, too. I wouldn’t expect you to know the lines, though, of course. But yes. Then they kiss.”

“Oh. Sorry that I can’t play the hero. I messed up your acting.”

“You could if you had a script. Well, even without one, aren’t you pretty heroic?”

He knows what Vil is referring to. He shrugs. 

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t need my help then, though...”

They both grin. Jack still finds it hard to believe that Vil has any experience boxing. Finds it hard to believe that Vil would call him stomping onto the scene and making all of those kids run away “heroic” when he’s pretty sure that “monstrous” would be the better word.

“I’m still glad you showed up. Anyway, all that was really left to act was the kiss. You didn’t mess anything up. I wouldn’t kiss you.”

Vil’s tone isn’t harsh at all–or maybe it is, but he’s so good at acting that Jack can’t tell–but the words sting against his face and make him regret not wearing a muffler after all.

“Oh.”

Jack is, conversely, _not_ good at acting. Whatever that single word had conveyed, Vil picks up on it, looking instantly contrite. His eyebrows disappear for a minute underneath the fabric of his hat and the wisp of his bangs. 

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean–” 

They take a step back from each other at the same time like they both realize this whole thing is a little more “adult” than they’re ready for. Vil is quick to collect himself before Jack can figure out how he wants to smooth this over, this awkward atmosphere.

“Stage kissing,” Vil says. Jack’s brows furrow. “It’s… I mean, it’s _technically_ kissing. But it’s not. It’s all staged–planned. And since we didn’t do any planning, I couldn’t just _kiss_ you. Just then, if I had to do anything, then it would be…”

Vil steps up to him again. Jack can feel his ears twitch backwards, flattening in a show of anxiety that he’s yet to master the control of and is not so sure that he even can if he tries. Vil doesn’t do anything, though, not yet, only removes one of his mittens and wriggles his fingers to show Jack. 

He’s not sure why he’s about to be slapped. It’s a reflex, instinct, to close his eyes for the impact even when he knows he should stop it. Maybe he’s a little curious about Vil’s strength. 

The only “impact” that happens, though, is the press of Vil’s cool fingertips to the side of his face, and then another cold press to Jack’s lips. He jolts in place; his eyes fly open. Vil is looking right back at him, blinking behind pale lashes. It takes a second too long to realize that he is not, after all, really being kissed. That the cold against his lips is only Vil’s thumb and that Vil is apparently so powerful that he’s rendered Jack completely speechless. 

“So that’s one way to stage kiss,” Vil says, finally moving back again. He struggles for a moment to put his mitten back on while keeping his gaze mostly trained on Jack. "It looks real from the audience."

“Oh.” He feels extremely hot all of a sudden. He’s glad now that he’d foregone all of the things like Vil is wearing, but he still might like that scarf if only to bury his face into the fabric and hide for a bit.

That noise doesn’t make Vil look concerned. He seems to be on the verge of smiling.

“Maybe when we’re older, I’ll show you some of the other ways.”

“We’ll get too old for make-believe.”

Vil’s eyes roll. It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate the thing he loves so much being called make-believe, but it’s not like he can deny that that’s what acting is. The telltale signs of a smile are still there, in any case, although he turns and starts walking again before Jack can drink the sight of it in for very long.

“Then we’ll just have to do it for real. Now, I know we haven’t done much here, but let’s get that cocoa after all. I just know that my lips are going to get chapped if we stay out too long…”

“Do it for real? Ki–?” He knows Vil doesn’t have the hearing to pick up his disbelief as he’s walking off, but he shuts his mouth tight anyhow, like saying the word out loud will make it never come true in the same vein of his mother telling him to keep wishes a secret on birthdays after blowing out cake candles and when there are nights full of shooting stars.

“Come on, Jack! I wasn’t going to use your allowance, but the longer you take, the more I’m thinking about it.”

He’s got no choice. He runs after Vil, squeezing in right beside him back through the park gate and laughing when the other boy practically squeals in surprise. 

“Oh, quit it! I swear, your tail is going to knock me right over. What’s with all that wagging?” 

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking that I like happy endings.”

**Author's Note:**

> fwiw: I am not opposed to taking requests!


End file.
